


The "I Love You" Dilemma

by sfmpco



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform, mollock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-05 15:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10310846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfmpco/pseuds/sfmpco
Summary: What could have happened after the end of The Final Problem.  My take on it.A short work in a few parts.





	1. Chapter 1

The shock to his emotions would eventually settle like the dust on his mantle at 221B, but he wouldn’t allow himself that freedom at the moment.  Not yet.  He watched until the police van carrying away his sister was gone from sight, and it was only then that John’s voice penetrated his thoughts.  “Lestrade sent a car to give us a lift back to London.”

“You go on ahead.  There’s something I have to do.” Sherlock said quietly without looking at John.

It wasn’t the first time that John had been put off from sharing a ride, but this time there was no comment regarding Sherlock needing to think things out and that John’s inferior intellect would only interfere.  John simply knew by their recent, harrowing events with Eurus what Sherlock meant, and he let Sherlock be.

Loose threads in the world.  Sherlock hated them, but he especially didn’t like them in his own life and he had one.  A big one.  A thread he had pulled and unraveled and there was no putting it back in place.  Not a scarlet thread, no.  A human thread.

Moriarty had once claimed, “I will burn you.  I will burn the heart out of you,” and by helping Eurus, that goal had finally been accomplished.  Sherlock’s heart was burned, seared open and raw, just as his hands were raw, bruised and he wasn’t certain if he had broken something when he smashed the coffin with his bare hands.  To be fair, it hadn’t been a real coffin but a mock one.  Even so, he had emptied his rage onto it and completely lost control as he demolished it beyond recognition.

Two hours later he found himself standing in front of a door he’d been to many times, but he couldn’t bring himself to knock.  Not that he had to knock.  He had his own key and had for several years, but using it right now was inappropriate.  He needed to be invited in, and he wasn’t entirely certain that would be forthcoming.

But he had a dilemma even more than finally saying the words, “I love you,” words that had been squeezed out of him under intense pressure, words that he hadn’t said to anyone before.  Why had she asked him to say the words first?  As if the situation and trial that Eurus had put him through weren’t difficult enough, Molly had unwittingly made it even more difficult.  Did she know something about his feelings for her that even he didn’t want to admit?  Did Eurus know that too?  Why had Eurus chosen Molly?  It was because Molly _did_ mean more to him than he had ever admitted, but admitting his love under duress  at the thought of Molly potentially being killed was not the way he had ever wanted to do it, and that presented a dilemma of sincerity.  If he told her how it was done and why it was done, would she believe his I love you to be true or would he immediately be discredited?

And there was an even more difficult dilemma: the cameras that Eurus had planted in Molly’s flat to film her reaction.  If Molly knew that she had been watched during the tense phone call, would Molly count that against Sherlock?

As it turned out, he didn’t have to knock.  The door opened, and he caught his breath from the suddenness of it.  “I knew you’d come after all that.” She said, but she wasn’t angry. She had been crying off an on all day, even before Sherlock’s odd phone call asking her to say “I love you,” but after saying it in return she had cried brokenly almost until the time he had come to her door,  Even now her face was blotchy, and her eyes and nose were still red.  He never realized how fragile she seemed, and yet he also knew how strong she was. 

But neither moved nor spoke.  It was as if the most awkward moment in time had frozen.  Finally he gasped a little, for he had been holding his breath, something which he often did unconsciously when he was lost in thought.

He put his hands on side of her face,  on top of her head, her shoulders, as if checking for injuries and to be certain she was alright.  He sighed in relief and pulled her into a tight embrace.  It was unexpected and not romantic.  It was frantic.  “You really are safe.  You’re okay.  I had to see for myself.”

“Why wouldn’t I be safe?” she asked.

“Not much time to explain.  Go and pack an overnight bag.  The bomb squad will be here in five minutes.”

“The bomb squad? What?”

“Just as a precaution.  I’ll explain later.” 

“No.  Explain now.  Sherlock!”

Without even thinking he said, “What I said earlier, I meant what I said.  I meant it.  Even though you asked me to say it, I meant it.  I meant it.  I just want you to know that.  I meant it.  I wouldn’t say it frivolously, and I’ve never said it to anyone before.  Ever.”

“I know.” She said quietly. “Say it again.” She almost whispered.  “Just say it and look me in the eyes this time.”

He wasn’t expecting that from her.  “I—I love you.”  The words still didn’t trip off his tongue easily, but he said it as he looked at her directly.

She mock slugged him in the arm.  “Then why did you have me go through all that and then just hang up on me?  Why?  And why is a bomb squad coming to my flat?”

And now what the moment of truth.  “It should have been done in private between just us two.  That wasn’t the timing I would have ever chosen, and I would have got to it eventually in my own way.  But this way – this circumstance - wasn’t my doing, I swear.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“I watched.  I saw you say it.”

“What do you mean you watched me?  How could you watch me? 

“Moriarty.”  He said as he pushed past her and went straight for her kitchen. 

“Moriarty is dead.” She said.   

"Not his influence.” Sherlock replied as he pulled a small step ladder out of her kitchen utility closet.  There was urgency to his movements. 

There had been three cameras watching her as she had gone through the emotional wringer of finally saying, “I love you.”  They had all watched from relatively the same angle.

“Sherlock!  What are you doing?”

“I need to know who’s been in here.  Work men, repairmen.  Anyone out of the ordinary.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Who?” he practically bellowed, and it made her jump a little which he immediately regretted.  He reached into a recessed ceiling light and pulled out a small camera.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asked in horror.

“And it’s not the only one.”

There were three live feed cameras on Molly during the “I love you” test, and within moments he located the other two.  He held up all three cameras.  “Who has been in here?”  His voice was stern.  He was angry but not with her.  “There may be others.  You have been watched and observed.”

She was struck cold with the horror of the idea, and he saw it in her eyes.  He had been too abrupt about the release of information.   He reached out a comforting hand but she shrugged it away.

“It’s going to all be fine.  When the bomb squad leaves, another team will come in and check for other hidden cameras and listening devices.”

“No, it’s not going to be fine, Sherlock.  My privacy has been violated, and it’s not fine.  It will never be fine.”  Tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill. 

He was reminded of John’s words and his own response of _it is what it is_ , but he couldn’t say the same thing now.  Those words didn’t fit.  “At the moment it feels awful, but in time, it will pass.” He said gently.

She wiped back her tears and stared at him.  “You’re still a bastard.”

He nodded in response and smiled slightly. “I know.”

The only workman at her place had been an electrician after her fuse box had mysteriously stopped working after the lights in the kitchen ceiling had blown.  That had been about six weeks before, and aside from the inconvenience of having to take off work to be home for him, she hadn’t given it much thought.  But she realized that she had been watched for six weeks.  She fetched him the invoice for the work.  “Here.  Do something with this.”

He folded it and tucked it in his pocket.  It was a potential clue into the network that Euros had managed to establish, and he planned to track it down once things were a little more settled.  He had dismantled Moriarty’s network and now he would dismantle Euros’ as well, although he didn’t expect that to take very long. “Now get your things together and come with me.  I’ll take you some place safe. Trust me and do as I ask.  I’ll explain all later, I promise.”

Whatever he was asking of her, she recognized was not romantic, but she had never expected their _I love you_ exchanges to instantly convert to romantic fulfillment.  She wasn’t entirely certain he even knew what romance was or how to accomplish it, and whatever would be forthcoming, it was not how either would have anticipated the aftermath of their declaration of love.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The cab ride from Molly’s home was filled with awkward pauses and silence as she and Sherlock sat next to each other but without touching.  She had assumed they were going to 221B Baker Street, but when the cab didn’t go in that direction she asked, “Where are we going?”

“Can’t go to Baker Street.  A bomb did actually go off there, and it’s uninhabitable for a bit.” He said.  His brow wrinkled for a moment.  “I’ve forgotten something.”

“Forgotten what?”

“If I could remember, then I wouldn’t have stated I’d forgotten,” he said.  “Sorry, that sounded prattish.”

“Yes it did.”  She looked out the windows at the night lights of London, but she wasn’t really looking at them.  She was navigating the tension with avoidance.

“Molly, you said you were not having a good day.  When I called, that’s what you said.” He said quietly.  “What happened?  Something at work?  Family?  Did I do something stupid again?”

His words brought instant tears to her eyes, and she gasped a little sob, and she swore a little under her breath.  She wasn’t angry at him, only upset that he had pushed a button she was trying to control.  “I put Toby to sleep.”

He instantly knew what he’d forgotten: her cat, and he winced and swore silently at himself.  Whereas he was not particularly a cat lover but preferred dogs, he knew that she was very sentimentally attached to her cat, and he had completely missed that she didn’t have the animal with her.  “I am sorry for your loss.”  His felt his words were too formulaic, but he wasn’t certain what else to say.  He felt an urgency to fix the situation and hadn’t a clue where to begin.  He put his hand on her shoulder, and she shrugged it off, but he persisted.  He gently slipped his arm around her and pulled her resistant form to him, gently pressing her head to his chest.  She fully gave into her tears then.  He stroked her head and whispered how sorry he was, and he held her that way for the remainder of their brief taxi ride.

The taxi pulled up to a large hotel, and the porter took her bags.  Sherlock kept his arm firmly around Molly as he walked her through the elegant lobby towards the elevator, and they went to the top floor, to a large suite, a suite that he clearly already occupied.  “My living quarters for a while, at least until 221B gets put back right.  Perhaps up to a couple of months.”

“Posh.” She commented.

“The government, well Mycroft, is picking up the tab. Seems he made a miscalculation about something and this is his form of penance.”

“So I’m staying here. With you.” She said.

“After what I’ve been through first with Mary and then… well, we don’t have to get into that now. It’s late. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.  After all, you’ve graciously allowed me to bolt hole at your place a few times.” He insisted.  “Of course you’ll take the bedroom, and I’ll take the sofa out here.  If you want something to eat, I’ll order room service. Anything you want.  Anything. The bar is fully stocked and there’s a complimentary basket of fruit and various sweets.”

“It’s after 1:00 AM, and I’ve got a splitting headache from crying.  I just want to go to bed. I want this day to be over.”

She looked bone-tired and he was not far behind, both looking a bit bedraggled. 

“Yes.  I agree.” He said quietly.

“Good night then.”

“Good night.”

He felt as if he should at least kiss her on the cheek.  He’d kissed her cheek twice before, but he also recognized that perhaps the timing was bad.  Such an intimate gesture somehow seemed inappropriate.  She also did not gravitate towards seeming to want it, and so he let the moment pass.

She left the bedroom door open all night, but he knew it wasn’t an invitation into the bed, not that he expected such an invitation.  It was simply a sign of her insecurity from the day and wanting him to have easy access to the room if she needed him.   But she didn’t need him.  She crawled between the luxurious sheets and pulled up the covers, and within minutes she was asleep.

As tired as he was, he didn’t fall asleep immediately.  He stood just outside the bedroom door for some time and listened to her breathing as she slept.  He had made a vow to protect Mary and had failed, and he would have said and done anything to keep Molly alive earlier, which he had.  But he was afraid to voice the vow again, as if it carried the curse of his own human frailty.  The truth was that he couldn’t keep anyone alive.  The power of life and death was  a foe he couldn’t battle. Yet he knew he would do whatever it took to ensure she was safe, and if that ever meant taking a bullet for her, he would do that too.  It was only Eurus’ game that forced him to realize just how much she did mean to him and that he did in fact love her.

When he finally settled down onto the sofa, he took a moment to examine the damage to his hands.  He knuckles were scraped, bruised and slightly swollen, and he had a splinter in the side of his hand which was starting to throb and show signs of minor subcutaneous infection  Certainly he wouldn’t be playing the violin for a few days, not that he had his anymore.  It had gone up in flames with the rest of his belongings.  Eurus had given him her Stradivarius, but he didn’t know if it was a permanent gift, and in her broken mental state he certainly wouldn’t ask her for it.

He slept fitfully as he revisited in his dreams the horrors of the previous day which distorted into nightmarish incoherence and woke him every thirty minutes or so.  Each time he awake he listened briefly for any sound from the bedroom, but when he heard nothing, he drifted back into the dreams.

He gave up trying to get a good sleep at just past 7:00, and he checked for messages on his phone as well as sending out a few texts, but he had nothing from Mycroft, John or Lestrade.  Presumably Eurus was back in maximum security, although she had had some sort of mental breakdown, and he wondered if she might spend some time in psychiatric observation.  Perhaps she would even be started on a regimen of drugs.  He didn’t know and it was all too fresh to second-guess what might occur with her.  Then there was the matter of explaining that she was actually still alive to his parents who thought she had died so many years ago.

When Molly emerged from the bedroom two hours later, she had a hotel blanket wrapped around her, and her hair was down and catawampus.  He had seen her like that when he had stayed at her place, but now he found it strangely endearing. 

He had been watching the telly on low volume, but he immediately shut it off and jumped up.  “Hungry?” 

“A little.  I could really use some coffee.”

Room service arrived thirty minutes later, and they moved to the dining area of the suite where their meal of poached eggs, hot pastries, toast, sausages and coffee awaited them.  She made her coffee with lots of cream and sugar and took a long sip.  She closed her eyes as it filled her system, and when she opened her eyes again, she looked directly at him and said, “Now then, tell me what happened and don’t skip any details, because I’ll know if you leaving something out.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

“I have a sister.”

“You have a sister.  Wait.  What?”

He sighed heavily.  “Something I’m still processing too, so don’t be alarmed if it takes you a bit.”

She listened in disbelief at the far-fetched tale he spun, a tale she kept at arm’s length because it seemed all too inconceivable to take as gospel truth.  Yet there was so much detail that it hardly seemed like him to be fabricating such a porker.  In fact, she had always known him to be painfully truthful to the point of being an arse. She had to stop him at one point to clarify part of his story.

“So Eur—Eurus? So Eurus orchestrated that ‘did you miss me’ thing that was on all the TV screens across the country because she wanted you to remind you that she was alive and wanted you to come out and _play_?”

“Oh, she would have done something eventually to get my attention, but I suspect that she put the pieces together about Magnusen – she’s very, very clever – and she realized I was being given a mission from which I was not expected to survive, and so it was a desperate attempt to keep me alive so I would play with her.  That wasn’t Moriarty’s voice, of course, and she had to manipulate the image.  Of course she and Moriarty had struck a bargain five years ago that he would help her.  Then he blew his brains out, which no doubt was not part of her plan, and so she had to improvise.”

“Of course.”

“You’re smirking.  You don’t believe me.” He frowned.

“No. No. Sorry.  I’m just listening.  But you have to admit it’s a bit dramatic, even for a Holmes.” She said.  She sat back in her chair, her knees drawn up beneath her chin, and she motioned to him with her pastry.  “Please continue.  It’s fascinating.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, because he felt she wasn’t taking him seriously or at least not as seriously as he would have liked.  He was saved from going further, however, when there was a knock at the door.  “That’ll be John.”

John was indeed at the door and looking quite tired as well, but he was also carrying a small medical kit. His first reaction to seeing Molly in Sherlock’s hotel suite was to say aside to him, “Well, you certainly moved quickly.”

“Nothing happened.” Sherlock said below his breath. “And you’re sniffling.”

“Being in cold water for who knows how long does tend to weaken the immune system.” John said.  “Either that or I got it from Rosie who may have got it from Mrs. Hudson.”  He set his medical kit on the dining table and then gave Molly a hug, something he’d never done before, and it took her a bit by surprise.  Even more surprising was the kiss on the cheek.  “So very glad you’re safe.  Really.  Such a relief.” 

“Not entirely certain she believes any of it.” Sherlock said.

“I never said that.” Molly insisted.  “I’m still processing it.”

“Oh, I think we all saw our lives flash before our eyes more than once in the past couple of days.” John said.

“See?” Sherlock said to Molly as he pointed to John.

“And having witnessed five deaths in person, four of which were murders and the fifth was perhaps a form of murder by suicide.” John added.

“Plus she almost drowned you.” Sherlock added.

“And thankfully the bomb threat against Molly turned out to be nothing.”  John gave her another hug for good measure before turning his attention back to Sherlock.  “Okay.  Let’s see it.”

Sherlock showed John the infected area on his hand.  It was superficial but still needed to be drained and cleaned.  Sherlock sat down and stretched out his arm so that John could have easy access to his hand.  “I would normally have the equipment to take care of this myself, but I don’t seem to have any equipment at all anymore.”

“Molly, could you get me a towel, please?” John asked, and Molly immediately got up and fetched a clean towel from the bathroom.  She placed it under Sherlock’s hand and then stood next to him, her hand on his shoulder as John began.

John gently lanced the infection, and the pus immediately began to ooze out.  Molly leaned closer to watch.  She continued to eat her Danish, unaffected by the slightly gross medical procedure.  She had seen much worse in the morgue, and it never affected her appetite.

John continued to work the infection until he was certain he had removed all the pus, and then he irrigated the wound which made Sherlock take in a sharp breath as he winced in pain.  “Well, this is what a little coffin smashing will get you.” John quipped.

“Coffin smashing?  What does that mean?” Molly asked.

“He didn’t tell you about the coffin?” John asked incredulously.

Sherlock glared at John and muttered between gritted teeth.  “Shut up.  Shut up.”

“No.  What coffin?  Sherlock, did you leave something out of your story?”

Sherlock groaned and rolled his eyes.  “Yes, there was a coffin.”

“Your coffin to be exact.” John said.

“My coffin?”

“That he smashed.  Obliterated, actually.”

“Do you mind?” Sherlock growled at John.

“You’re going to tell her, and you’re going to tell her everything.” John said sternly.

“I was getting to it!” he insisted.

Molly gently rubbed Sherlock’s back.  “Sherlock, what do you need to tell me about the coffin?”

Sherlock groaned a little.  He really hadn’t wanted her to know about that part or that he’d completely lost control.  “To be fair it wasn’t a real coffin.  It was more of a metaphor of your death if you didn’t say the words.”

“The words on the coffin.”  John added.

“What were the words on the coffin?” Molly pressed.

Sherlock gave John a sharp glare, but John wasn’t letting him off the hook.  “The coffin had a plaque that said _I love you_ , and I deduced it was a coffin meant for you.”

“Why would she have a coffin meant for me?  Why would she want me to say those words?  I don’t understand.”

“ _So many days not lived.  So many words unsaid._ That’s what she said about it—the coffin.  And about me.” He said.

“Your days not lived and your words unsaid or mine?  Or both?” she asked.  “And how would she know about such things?”

Sherlock sighed deeply and gritted his teeth for a moment.  In truth he wasn’t exactly certain how Eurus had managed to know anything of Molly’s heart much less his own.  Molly had been deemed unimportant in Sherlock’s life by Moriarty, but Moriarty was not the stratospheric genius that Eurus was.  Nothing escaped her mind.  He’d only had to play a few notes of the music he’d composed during his case involving Irene Adler for her to know that he’d had sex.  “Her mind is infinitely quicker than mine.  She sees threads of nuance and information that escape even me.”

“So you have things unsaid to me?” she asked.

He was trapped between her words and John’s waiting stare and it was not a comfortable place to be.  He stood up.  “I need a bit of fresh air.”  He grabbed up his coat and started for the door.  John caught him at the door.

“Don’t do this to her.  Don’t.” John said angrily beneath his breath.  “Pull it together.”

“Oh if it was up to you I’d be shagging Irene Adler in High Wycombe, and by the way she isn’t in High Wycombe.  She isn’t even in this country and never will be again.” Sherlock snapped quietly between gritted teeth, and he let himself out of the hotel room.

John turned back to Molly.  “Sorry.  Really so so sorry.”

“Just go.” She said with tears in her eyes.  She swallowed hard and added, “This has been  brewing a long time, longer than this Eurus thing.  It’s between him and me and we just have to work it out.”

John gave her another kiss on the cheek and apologized again, but he gathered his med kit and told her to call him if she needed anything.  And he left.

Sherlock had initially walked down to the lobby, cursing himself for walking out of the conversation, but it was John who cursed him even more strongly when he caught up to him.  “That was inexcusable.” He said.

“I didn’t want to tell her about the coffin!” Sherlock blurted perhaps too loudly as some people in the lobby immediately stopped what they were doing and looked at him.

“You owe her the complete truth!” John snapped.

“Why?”

“Because she loves you, that’s why.  And I think you just might love her too, and I don’t mean only as a friend.”  When Sherlock seemed at a temporary loss for words, John continued in a calmer, quieter tone, “You’re not the same man I first met.  You’ve grown and changed.  Mostly for the better.  And I told you that romantic involvement would complete you as a human being.”

“Yes.  You said with Irene Adler.”

“Forget I said that.   I was wrong.  She could never love you the way Molly does.  And you could never love her properly either because let’s face it.  You can’t really trust her.” 

Sherlock stared at his feet and then realized he wasn’t wearing shoes.  In fact, he wasn’t even properly dressed under his Bestaff. He rolled his eyes and shook his head in dismay with himself.  “The thing with Irene was one night.  One night.  The night I rescued her.  It’s really nothing more than that, and like I said, she’s not in this country, and don’t bother asking me where she is because I’m not telling.  The point is. I have never considered Irene as someone with whom I would find completeness, as you put it.”

“You never thought you needed completeness from another human.  It was always the work, but at the end of the day, there’s no intimacy with the work.  It’s cold.  I doesn’t have a heart.  It can’t love you back.”

“I know, John.”  Sherlock said.

“Then why are you still standing here?” John asked. 

Yes.  Why was he standing there, and where had he really planned to go?  He gave John a short nod, which was a way of saying thank you, and he turned back towards the elevator. 

Sherlock returned to his hotel room and opened the door quietly.  He was confronted with an empty room.  Molly’s half-eaten pastry was on the table, and she was no longer there.  For a moment he panicked that she had hastily packed her belongings and left, and he could hardly blame her, but a rustle of covers from the other room told him otherwise. 

She had returned to bed and her sniffling told him that she had been crying and perhaps still was a bit.  She was turned away from the door and wouldn’t turn to him even though she knew he was standing there.  He quietly crossed room, got in beside her and spooned against her as he wrapped his arm around her.  “Molly.”

It was not the first time he had ever been in bed with her, but it was never sexual.  Usually it was guilt.  When he bolt-holed at her flat and took over her bedroom, he generally felt guilty sometime during the night and invited her back into her own bed, but he never touched her.  It was a sleeping arrangement, nothing more.  However, he did like the smell of her after she’d taken a shower, which she always did when she came home from work, and he loved the smell of her shampooed hair after it had dried.  He never told her, but those smells comforted him and had always lulled him to sleep.  She smelled like that now, and he breathed in her scents while trying not to make himself too obvious.

But he had never snuggled against her in bed before. This was new for both of them.  “Molly.” He said again.

“I’m listening.” She said quietly.

He toyed with her hair for a moment then gently stroked her cheek. “I was so angry with my sister that she had played a game with your life. I was angry at myself for not having said the words sooner and then nearly losing you.  All the things I should have said to you and never did, and then to realize I got played just so that she could see my reactions and yours.  The words got squeezed out of me, but that didn’t make them less real. I meant what I said, Molly.  I meant it.”

“You walked out, Sherlock.” she said.

“Bad form.” He said.  “Please forgive me.  It will never happen again.”

“Because you’ve figured it out?” she asked.  She wasn’t going to allow any of his words to go unchallenged.

“Yes.  I believe so.” He replied.

“So where do we go from here?  The words have been said and neither of us can take them back.  Do they mean to you what they mean to me?”  She rolled towards him.  “You know very well that I have always loved you, and I have been in love with you for a long time.  What do the words really mean to you?”

He didn’t answer immediately but blinked a few times as he processed her question.  “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Is that fear talking or love?” she asked.  She tenderly stroked his cheek and ran her fingers through his dark curls.  Just saying the words to each other had forced them into a level of intimacy that neither had been prepared for, but it had happened.

“Both.” He finally admitted.

“I’m not going anywhere, and nothing’s going to happen to me, so let’s put that aside, okay?”  She continued to stroke his face while searching the depth of his eyes.  “Are you in love with me, Sherlock Holmes?”


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock hesitated in responding.  In some way perhaps he had always had a soft spot for her, but he had been inept at showing it.  It was usually masked by his superiority complex.  He always thought he knew what was best for others.  Wasn’t it best to point out that Jim from IT aka Moriarty was either gay or putting on the illusion of gay?  Wasn’t it best to point out the fallacy of Tom’s idiotic thinking?  Meat dagger, really.  Tom was so far beneath Molly that it had been irritating to see them together.  And then the realization hit him like sudden strong gust of wind.  He had cock-blocked her attempts at romance.  He didn’t want her with anyone else.  He couldn’t just let her have a life apart from him, to be happy with someone else, even if he himself had been unwilling to step up to the plate.  And why had he been willing to block her while being unwilling to become the suitor himself?  He did love her – as a friend – she had been his closest ally since just before his jump from Bart’s roof.  He kept her in his mind palace to help him survive being shot.  It wasn’t John he turned to in his mind palace for medical help.  And unlike John’s pronouncement that Molly was the last person that Sherlock ever thought of, she was actually the first.

His eyes filled with tears.  What had he done?  Eurus knew his heart for Molly even before he was willing to recognize it.  “I have been so stupid. Forgive me.” He said.

“For what?”

“For not seeing you.  For not seeing that you are the most important woman in my life.” He said.

“But are you in love with me?” she asked.

“I have been painfully inadequate in showing you how I felt.” He said.

“Are you in love with me?” she asked again.

“I have never before told a woman I loved her, not even my own mother.” He said.  “You are the only one.”

“Don’t make me ask you the question again.” She said. 

Their lips were close but not touching, but they were breathing each other’s hot breaths.  “I have never given my heart to anyone.  I’m not sure how it’s done.” He said softly.  “But if I were to give it, I could think of no one more capable to receive it than you.”

“I swear, if you don’t answer—“

“I love you, Molly Hooper.” He said as he pulled her even closer and gently kissed her.  And he kissed her again.  And again.  Her head was cradled in his hands, their lips pressed together in tender, but deep kisses.  He took the initiative, and when she returned in kind, it only made him more arduous.  She didn’t kiss him the way Irene Adler had.  She kissed him with a gentle passion saved for years just for him.  Irene’s desperate , frantic attempts to make love to the man who had saved her from death had brought out an animal instinct in him where he found himself copulating not with love but with pure lust that overcame him in the moment. The sex had been vigorous and charged, a desperate tangle of arm and legs that left both breathless and spent.  Even now he felt similar urges, and his arousal was evident.  That Molly had aroused him was arousing just in itself.  “I could make love to you all day and night.” He whispered.  “I want you even now.  This very minute.”  He reluctantly pulled away and sat up. “But I don’t think we should.”

“What just happened?” she asked in complete confusion.

He turned to her and smiled.  “I think, Miss Hooper, that it would be bad form to simply start off with sex, even though we’ve known each other for ages.  I think I owe you some proper dates.  Many dates.  I am only giving my heart to a woman once in this lifetime, and I don’t want to miss out on any of the steps simply because my hormones got the better of me.”  He took a shuddering breath.  “I am perilously close to losing control in that department, and if you so much as hinted at your consent, I would not deny you, but I don’t think it’s wise.”

There was a moment of silence, but when he turned to look at her she was smiling at him. “You’re not going to ask me out for chips again are you, Sherlock Holmes?”

That made him laugh a little and it broke the emotional tension he felt. “No.  I can do better.  I will do better by you. You pick the place.  Any place.”

She sat up and wrapped her arms around him in a warm hug.  “Take me out for some proper seafood.”

It would be the first date of many, and he took great delight in this new addition to his routine, even mentally noting the first time they held hands.  Sherlock Holmes, for all his irascible idiosyncrasies, was still a gentleman by tradition, and he was resolute to do this right.  She deserved his best, and he was determined to give it to her.


End file.
